Friday, August 31, 2007

My Son is Joining A Nudists Colony

Dylan has decided he is NOT going to wear clothes anymore. I didn't think any stage could be worse than the obsessed with his penis stage, but now I find myself longing for those days. The "obsessed with his penis stage" diaper change went something like this... I would hold his legs up with one hand, take the diaper off with the other. His right hand would go directly there and start pulling, causing him to get some poop on his right hand. I would yell, "Eewww! No, Dylan!", as that hand went towards his mouth. I lwould let go of his legs to grab the hand before it went in his mouth, which caused his feet to go in the dirty diaper, getting poop on his feet. I would wipe off his hand, then his feet. I would hold his legs up
with my left arm, while blocking the penis area with my left hand, my back aching due to the way I was distorting myself, while quickly wiping the poop off his bum with my right hand, as his left hand was trying to push my arm away.

I thought that was bad, but it is nothing compared to this newest stage - the I will not be still for more than 2 seconds stage. Now, in the 2 seconds he gives me, I am only able to unsnap his onsie, and undo the sides of the poopy diaper before Dylan rolls over and takes off. Or rolls over and sits up to grab everything on the changing table and put it in his mouth. If I flip him back onto his back, he immediately rolls back over. If I try to stop him from rolling over, he pushes against me with such superhuman force that even using all my strength I cannot keep him pinned. You are thinking I am a wimp, that a 9 month old can beat me, but I'm telling you, he is freakishly strong! Have you ever watched the Strong Man competitions on television, where men will pull a semi with their teeth, or lift a car? I'm thinking Dylan has a future there.

Usually, I am putting the diaper on him, while he is sitting or standing or crawling away, so it is crooked or hanging down exposing baby crack. I am so exhausted by that point I don't bother to snap the onesie or put his shorts back on. This isn't such a big deal now, because the weather is still warm. What am I gonna do in the fall and winter?

The thing that amazes me the most is his determination. I am a pretty stubborn person, and one day I decided I was going to win the diaper battle once and for all. He rolled over, I flipped him to his back, he rolled over, I flipped him to his back, etc. I swear we would still be doing that right now, because yep, you guessed it, Dylan won. I could hear his sinister laugh as he crawled away, leaving me sweaty, exhausted, and defeated.

Determination and strength. My kid is going places! He's going naked, but he's going.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

The Baseball Game

My husband and I recently attended a Pirates game. Let me start by saying I am not a big Pirates fan, (this will become very apparent as you read further). I like to go to a game once a year when they have fireworks at the end of the game. Right now the baseball fans are shocked and appalled that I would go to a game just to see fireworks, but it is true. I love fireworks! There is just something about those exploding bursts of color that makes me feel more alive. My favorite holiday is the Fourth of July for this reason. Also, it is in the summer, involves a picnic, and doesn't involve the stress of gift giving.

If it were me, I would probably go to the game around the fourth inning (I actually had to think about what it was called.. Period? No. Quarter? No. Set? No. ). My wonderful husband insists that we see the very first pitch! He is not a big fan, but he actually does enjoy watching the game. One year when we went to a game, I actually saw a woman in front of us reading a magazine! She barely looked up when we scored a point. That is really bad. I, at least, pretend to give a crap what is going on, in between eating the wonderful food that you MUST consume at the game to get the full experience, and talking my husbands ear off about everything but baseball! I have to tell you that I saw a woman reading a book this year! COME ON! I hope I don't become one of these women who can't even fake interest in the game for their husband's sake. Of course, maybe their husbands aren't nice enough to allow their ears to be talked off like mine is!

Each year I tend to complain about what they decide to do after the game. One year they had some hokey song and dance show going on in between the fireworks that ruined it. Another year, I think it was a history lesson (that's what it seemed like to me). My husband just laughs good naturedly, as I "rant and rave" about how they always ruin the fireworks for me! (It's all about me, you know). This year was no exception. This time they had concerts - my husband chose the night Styx played. So, Styx would play a song or two, then a few minutes of fireworks, then another song or two, another few minutes of fireworks. AARRGGHH! How frustrating! (Sorry, Styx fans).

I found myself people watching during the songs and I was amazed at what I saw. There was a teenage guy, with a girl on his left, a girl on his right, and several girls behind him. He was bent over very involved in a conversation with the girl on his right. The girl to his left was doing just about everything possible to get his attention. She was flicking her long, beautiful hair around so much I thought she would get whiplash. She was laughing at every stupid thing he said that wasn't even directed at her from what I could tell. At one point she grabbed his hand, and he shoved her hand away! She finally got sick of it, (or so I thought), and turned her back to him and folded her arms. Then, he put his arm around her AND THE OTHER GIRL! She leaned over and nuzzled into him, which he shrugged off. Over and over I watched this girl humiliate herself! This girl was beautiful. She shouldn't have any problems getting a guy to be interested in her. Sadly enough, I have seen this many times before.

It is upsetting that girls have such low self esteem. Society has to be doing something wrong. The media is always talking about weight and beauty, and magazines are the worst. Every article is telling some way you can "improve" yourself. Be prettier. Be better at attracting a man. Be more stylish. Be better in bed. Just be "BETTER". What crap! Moms with daughters please tell them every day they are perfect just the way they are. They are beautiful, smart, fun, amazing people, and they do not NEED a man to be complete. Tell them any guy would be lucky to be with them, and tell them to make sure any guy they are with treats them the way they deserve to be treated. Like a queen. If I ever have a daughter, I promise you that is what I will do. I will tell them what kind of guy to look for. One who lets you babble on endlessly while he is trying to watch a baseball game, for example.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Just Another Day at the Doctor's Office

My son had his 9 month old doctor visit today. Actually, a more accurate way to put it would be I had my son's 9 month old doctor visit today. All I can say is I am never taking my son to a doctor again without taking someone along to help me. Considering the fact that at only 9 months of age he already has a neurologist, orthopedic surgeon, physical therapist, opthamologist, early intervention coordinator, pediatrician, and a dermatologist, I guess I better start assembling the virtual army of people it will take to make that possible.

First, we sat in the waiting room. Oh how I love waiting rooms. Did I say we "sat" in the waiting room? The progression usually goes like this... I start out sitting in the chair with him in my lap. I am a prepared mom, so I have about 4 or 5 different toys in the bag to keep him amused. I give him the first one, saying "Look, Dylan! Your "X", with enough enthusiasm to get him so excited about "X" that he will surely sit there patiently playing with such an amazing toy. He looks at it, then looks at me as if to say, "Mom I've seen this dumb toy 100 times, but nice try", then throws it on the germ infested floor. I try to figure out a way to pick the now germ infested toy up off the ground, without dropping the now squirming Dylan on his head. After successfully managing to do that, I stuff germy toy No. 1 in my bag, and move on to walking around the room. I show Dylan all the pictures on the wall, which usually keeps him occupied for about, oh, 2 minutes. Then, he decides he absolutely MUST get down and play and the germ infested floor. I get him in a wrestling hold and proceed to the jiggling/bouncing stage.

At that point, the receptionist calls me over to take some handouts(when do I have time to read?), and tells me I owe the copay. I hold the wriggling kid in my left hand, while trying to unzip my purse with my right hand, get the money out, and hold on to the handouts. Dylan grabs the handouts and starts eating them. I give the nice lady the $10, and look at her like "Are you serious?", when she asks if I would like a receipt. Uh, unless you'd like to put it in my mouth, then no. Back to the jiggling/bouncing stage. My left leg is starting to ache, when the nurse calls us in.

I try to get Dylan undressed so she can measure and weigh him, while also trying to focus on whatever questions she is asking me. Dylan flips over as I'm taking his pants off, catching his foot in one opening, and almost doing a header off the table. After catching him, I realize the nurse is asking me a question for the third time. "Sorry, what?" "Do you have any concerns at this time?" I look at her to see if she has glasses on. My son's legs, arms, and neck are completely covered with ezcema, which you could probably see from space. I mentioned that yesterday when I called to see if they could take him a day earlier, but apparently they didn't write that on the form. After I explain "my concern", she measures him as much as you can measure a kid who can't be still for even one second at this point. Then, she says I can carry him to the other room where she will weigh him. Oh Joy! I love that part! Dylan hates that scale. Can you blame him, really? How would you feel if at your next doctor appointment, they made you strip down to just your underwear and sit on a cold hard scale in front of everyone? Not a pretty picture, is it? Now, please don't have nightmares about this tonight - that was not my intention.
He gets up 3 times before we finally get an "accurate" measurement.

Now we wait for the doctor, (who isn't the one we normally see), to come in. While waiting, Dylan takes the roll of white crinkly paper and throws it onto the germ infested floor. (Guess I should have told them about that - oops). The doctor came in right after I put it back up on the table, and placed the now pissed off Dylan on top of it. I get out Toy #2 from the bag to amuse Dylan while the doctor pokes and prods him. He promptly throws it on the germ infested floor, and tries to do yet another header off the table. I grab him and start the jiggling/bouncing again while attempting to focus on what the doctor is saying. She keeps saying "Ok now, Mom, here is what I want you to do". I am quite certain I didn't birth this woman so why does she keep calling me "Mom"? Instead of focusing on what she is saying, I find myself couting the number of times she calls me "Mom". I get to 9 before finally snapping out of it. As she continues her instructions, Dylan is arching his back with such force that I can no longer hold him. I give in and let him down onto the germ infested floor, which he crawls all over, before putting his hand into his mouth.

The doctor tells me I can get him dressed, and I whine "I need some assistance!" She sighs as if to say "I don't get paid the big bucks to "assist", but I'm so pitiful she pulls the onsie over his head while I hold him still. Then she quickly exits before I can ask her for more assistance. I notice the onsie is on backwards. COME ON, LADY! I could have managed to do that on my own. I pull the shirt off and get it on the right way before Dylan launches into his "I am done here" cry. At this point, I am so sweaty one would think I either just had phenomenal sex, or ran the Boston Marathon. My arms ache, my legs ache, my hair and clothes are in disarray, and I am almost in tears. He has launched into his thermonuclear cry - T minus 10...9...8... I grab everything, including the pants and socks he was wearing, and stuff it into the bag. I don't even bother to snap his onsie. I just grab the bag, Dylan, and run as quickly as possible to the car. I put him in the carseat, throw the still open bag in the backseat dumping half its contents, start the car, take off down the road, and my wonderful angel is asleep within 5 minutes. Bliss!

My son's 9 month doctor appointment had me. I better go start assembling that army.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Let's All Be Kids

My son, Dylan, has the best laugh. It is one of those full belly laughs that is infectious. At nine months old, the things that make him laugh are often as amusing as the laugh itself. I recently took a video that I wish I could share with all of you - I promise I will once that feature is available. He has a Winnie the Pooh toy that is shaped like a bee hive with a hole at the top. In the hive are 10 blocks and on the day of the video I would put a block partially in the hole, then tell Dylan to "Push it" the rest of the way into the hole. Every time I said "Push it!", he would laugh. Not just laugh, but crack up to the point he was almost rolling around on the floor in hysterics. Why it was so funny I really don't know, but it got me thinking. When was the last time I laughed that hard? So hard that I was rolling around on the floor? So hard that my sides hurt? I couldn't remember. Damn, that was depressing!

There was a line in the movie "Knocked Up" where the guy said something like "I wish I felt as strongly about anything, as my kids do about bubbles". Sad, but true. Have you ever watched a kid play with bubbles? Their face lights up, they laugh, giggle, and snort, while frantically and blissfully running in all directions on the wonderful quest to pop all the bubbles before they reach the ground. When they just see a bottle of bubbles, they gasp and shout with glee, "BUBBLES!!!"

When was the last time you shouted anything with glee? Probably around the age of 5! Why is that? When do we lose that enthusiasm - that joy for living? I bet if we all started acting a little more like a kid, instead of a "responsible adult", our lives would be much richer, and loads more fun. Lets sing along to the song in the elevator, lets dance to the song playing in the grocery store, lets spin in a circle until we fall down at the park, lets tell strangers knock-knock jokes while waiting at the doctors office, lets whine to our boss "I don't wanna work late again!", let's cry when we feel like crying and laugh when we feel like laughing. Until our sides hurt. Gotta go. Dylan and I are gonna go play with bubbles.


Hi Everyone! So, I am new to this blogging thing. I went to a writers conference this weekend, and was told that all writers should be blogging, to gain an audience, or get practice writing, or maybe just to distract yourself from the fact that you aren't published yet, which is the ultimate goal. So, here I am world!

Now, I don't consider myself old, (I'm 35), or dumb, but I will say this. I am a bit technologically challenged, or hesitant, or resistant. I don't own an ipod or a blackberry and I've never texted. I actually remember being in grad school when people were talking about this new thing coming out that was going to change everyone's life - "the world wide web". At the time, I remember saying "Whatever!" and actually searching through my purse for a quarter to call someone from a pay phone to say I was going to be late to meet them! Crap! I am old, aren't I?

This year I actually broke down and purchased a digital camera for the first time - I liked picking up film and being surprised by the shots I got. Don't get me wrong - some of these "newfangled gadgets" I don't know how I lived without. Take my DVR, for example. I used to almost get into a wreck rushing home from wherever I was on Thursday nights, because I couldn't miss Survivor. I used to plan my life around tv, and watch commercials, "like an animal" as my husband would say. Wouldn't it be nice if we had a DVR for our life? When some asshole makes a rude comment, we could pause, think of the best comeback ever to come out of someone's mouth, rewind, and deliver. We could fast forward through meetings, waits at doctor's offices, trips to the grocery store or dentist, and our children's tantrums.

What I'm trying to say is, I'm new to this, so bear with me. How about some encouragement? I'll get the ball rolling... "Wow, Jen! You're amazing! Great job! Way to go!"
Hope you like my blogs. Visit anytime.